


Strange Luck

by Vagrant_Blvrd



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Urban Fantasy, M/M, Pre-Relationship, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-03
Updated: 2019-11-03
Packaged: 2021-01-21 12:42:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21299648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vagrant_Blvrd/pseuds/Vagrant_Blvrd
Summary: The problem with living in the city is that sometimes it makes getting your hands on rare ingredients for spells a goddamned ordeal.
Relationships: Ryan Haywood/Michael Jones
Comments: 15
Kudos: 101





	Strange Luck

**Author's Note:**

> This wasn't supposed to be a Thing, but I kept thinking about [this post](https://del3141.tumblr.com/post/188692130618/shopkeeper-increasingly-exasperated-im-trying) and it happened anyway. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

The problem with living in the city is that sometimes it makes getting your hands on rare ingredients for spells a goddamned ordeal.

Always some vital component to it that no one’s seen or even heard of for at least a generation or two, or it’s so rare it’s only known to grown in a certain climate in certain conditions. 

Half the time there’s a complicated riddle or bit of prose Michael has to untangle to even figure out what those conditions _are_. 

Pretentious as fuck about it too like, “blooming under the light of the second full moon of the month as it fights against its celestial confines in a bid to join with the Earth, shining red as blood” or some bullshit like that he has to explain to someone to see if they have it in stock.

If he’s lucky one of his contacts for that kind of thing will know a place that might carry said ingredient or know how to get it for him.

Take this little shop hidden away between a used bookstore and a trendy hipster coffee shop in what used to be a bustling strip mall. Renovated after who knows many years and shuttered businesses thanks to a changing city and economic ups and downs. The whole thing’s been turned into one of those outside malls and that’s bouncing back.

Michael goes past it almost every on his way for one job or another. He’s sure it wasn’t here a yesterday afternoon taking up space in what used to be an ice cream place, but shops like this tend to have what he needs.

There’s a bell over the door that rings when he walks in, something off about them that has him glancing upwards - 

“Oh, a customer, how lovely!” someone says, pulling Michael’s attention from the bell towards the guy behind the counter. 

Tall, broad-shouldered and against what Michael's used to seeing in shops like these he’s wearing a graphic print t-shirt and a hoodie. What looks like a pair of jeans and while Michael can’t see his shoes from here, he’s betting on sneakers or something similar. (Maybe.)

The counter he’s standing behind is the same one Michael remembers when he used to stop by when it was still an ice cream shop. Refrigerated glass cases and everything else, which.

It gives him pause for a moment, wondering if he stepped into the coffee shop instead, but there’s no smell of coffee or a single hipster to be found. No poor beleaguered college student bemoaning their life choices in the middle of exams or soccer mom on her phone chattering to her friend about the latest neighborhood scandal.

There is, however, a cat.

An orange tabby curled up in a cat bed at the end of the counter watching Michael curiously, little purple collar with a bell around its neck.

Something just slightly off about it in the same way the bells over the door that tells Michael he is in the right place after all.

The shelves along the walls where the booths and tables used to be are full of little glass bottles and vials filled with dried plants and flowers and things Michael tries not to think to hard about sometimes.

A skull or two that seem to be decoration and not for sale. An actual skeleton in a corner that _is_ for sale, and the shop itself smells like Geoff’s workshop. 

Candle wax and incense. The lingering scent of the potions he and Jack brew to sell. Flowers and herbs and other things hanging up to dry. 

When Michael looks back at the guy behind the counter he’s smiling at Michael in this deeply unsettling manner, which is another sign he’s in the right place.

All _I’ve seen things your puny mortal mind cannot hope to comprehend_ and _foolish mortal, dealing in things you don’t yet understand_, with a side of _step into my parlor_ which is on the rarer end of the spectrum and something he only sees in the creepier shopkeepers.

So.

It’s going to be one of _those_ days.

“Hey, uh,” Michael says, fumbling for the piece of paper with the list of ingredients and other things he needs as he walks over to the counter.

Some of them are for Gavin, the lazy bastard, and Geoff asked him to pick up some stuff to restock his stores if he got the chance. He promised to pick up a new mortar and pestle for Jack to replace the one Gavin broke last week too. 

It might be smarter to go to one of his regular shops for the rest of the things he needs, but he has a busy schedule filled with clients and other errands as it is. Doesn’t feel like driving to the other end of the city on top of everything else.

“I have a few things to get, and one of them is hard to find. I saw your shop and thought maybe you could help?”

He hands the guy the paper, watches him read it and sees the slight frown as he hits the part where Michael had to stop and do some research to figure out what the hell the spell was asking him to get.

In hindsight, he should have written his shopping list on a seperate piece of paper, but he was too fucking irritated at the time to bother. (Took him a goddamned week buried in Geoff and Jack’s extensive library of spellbooks and other bullshit before he found his answer.

“Oh, wow,” the guy says, looking up at him. “That’s an incredibly rare ingredient.”

Yeah, Michael kind of figured, what with the very specific circumstances it needs to grow. 

“It’s for a spell,” Michael says, decides it’s really none of the guy’s business what the spell is for, because hey. 

Not to be rude? 

But yeah, none of his business. 

The guy hums, giving Michael this look Michael's also familiar with in places like this.

The last time situations were right for that ingredient to grow was about a year ago, and the time before that was over a hundred and fifty years. The chances of finding someone who has it or knows where Michael could find someone who does are – no pun intended – astronomical.

If this guy doesn’t have it and Michael can’t find it anywhere else, he’d have to wait at least that long before it grows again, maybe longer. (At which point Michael will be super dead and it won’t matter, so there’s that.)

“Yes, I will warn you...every item comes with a price,” he says, like all the other assholes before him Michael’s run into in shops like this.

Michael stares at him.

“...Yes,” he mimics, because he’s not in the mood for this bullshit. “I know how shops work.”

He’s not in the mood for this bullshit, but he’s also not an idiot. Knows better than to piss someone like him off, make an enemy of him or whatever. (Well, for the most part.)

The guy blinks at him like he’s not sure what’s going on, or just thinks Michael's an idiot. 

He rallies quickly though, clearing his throat and looking around like there’s anyone else in the shop watching them. (Besides the cat, that is.)

“No,” he says, putting more emphasis into his words. “The price may be more than you expect to pay.”

He gives Michael this look, raised eyebrows and _please tell me you’re not that dense_ and _dear God, please don’t be that dense_ and a little _why are you doing this to me?_

Michael doesn’t know why he does it, he really doesn’t. 

Maybe it’s the fact the guy seems relatively normal for someone running a shop like this. Maybe it’s the fact he’s already getting riled up and Michael hasn’t done anything yet. Maybe it’s the fact that Michael’s that much of an asshole, who can say.

“Yes,” he says. “I know how US taxes work too.”

There’s a tiny sneeze, this little jingling chime that has Michael looking over at the tabby just in time to see it hide a smirk as it gives itself a little shake.

From the corner of his eye Michael catches the shopkeeper shooting it a scowl, but when he turns back to him the guy has a polite smile on his face.

Too polite, like he’s not thinking up curses and hexes to place on Michael and everyone he holds dear or whatever else creepy bastards like him do for fun.

Michael should be worried. Shouldn’t be fucking with him at all, but he just. Can’t not, for whatever reason. Is, in fact, enjoying himself watching the poor guy try to keep his cool while his stupid cat laughs at him.

The guy laughs, and it’s. It’s a nice sound. Weird, too, kind of croaky in a way? 

But just. 

Nice?

Like his voice, and those eyes of his, and okay, _look_.

Michael’s getting sidetracked, but it’s been a long week and bound to be a long day and he’s just.

Yeah.

The guy makes this noise in the back of his throat, and plants his hands on the counter in front of him, strained smile on his face.

“I’m trying to tell you that I’m evil and offering these wares with no regard for the harm they will do!” he says, voice cracking on the end because apparently he’s never had to deal with something as exasperating as Michael's proving to be.

Probably used to people showing him the proper reverence and whatever the hell after his first warning. Rethinking their decision to set foot in a magically (literally) appearing shop with a creepy shopkeeper and a cat that is definitely not a normal cat and all that. Making the right choice (or not) when it came to their reason for walking in when they should have known better and just. All that.

Instead, he got Michael and his low tolerance for bullshit of any kind, but especially the shopkeeper’s after the week he’s had.

Michael crosses his arms and scowls at the shopkeeper.

Normally at this point he’d be sharing the guy’s exasperation, but he’s having too much fun fucking with him.

“I know what capitalism is too, goddammit,” he says. “Now do you have the stuff I need or not?”

The guy stares at him, quietly seething and for a moment Michael sees something moving around in the back of his eyes – dark, sinister – before it gives the fuck up and rolls over. Shoulders slumping as he lowers his head to stare at the faux granite counter with its scuffs and scratches, little nicks.

Mutters something that sounds less like a dread curse or something along those lines and more like _for fuck’s sake_.

Michael glances over at a light chiming noise to see the tabby walking over to the shopkeeper, trilling softly as it bumps its head against his face, makes these little noises that definitely isn’t laughter. 

Really.

The shopkeeper leans into it at first, and then sputters as the tabby continues walking arching its back to shove its fur into his face before hopping down and wandering off.

“Thank you,” the guy says, wiping fur out of his mouth as he scowls at the cat. “Really, no. Thank you ever so much for that.”

The cat shakes itself again, and meows in smug satisfaction.

The guys sighs, and looks up at Michael. 

Seems wary, almost.

“As a matter of fact, I do happen to have the things on your list. If you don’t mind waiting, I can get them out of the back.”

He looks like he’s expecting Michael to give him more grief about things, which is both hilarious and kind of sad.

“Sounds great!” Michael says with a smile, all nice and friendly and perfect customer who would never dream of being difficult.

The guy eyes him, like he thinks it’s a trap of some kind. But when Michael just stands there smiling at him and waiting patiently, he shakes his head and heads off to the back storeroom muttering to himself.

Michael waits until he’s out of sight before he laughs, tries to hide it because the tabby’s watching him, but come the fuck on.

He doesn’t know how long it will take the guy to gather all the supplies on Michael's list, so he explores the shop. Looks into the glass cases around the counter to see they’ve been altered. No tubs of ice cream now, just neatly labeled bin full of spell and potion ingredients.

One of the cases is humming quietly, stocked with ingredients that require refrigeration to keep them fresh, which goes a long way to explain why the guy decided to put his shop here instead of the other empty stores around it.

Michael goes over to the bookshelves, and almost trips over the cat who lets out a sad little noise that has Michael staring down at it.

Looks like a normal cat in all the right ways, but the way its been acting is a dead giveaway it’s most likely the shopkeeper’s familiar or assistant. Too much of an asshole to be anything else, given it’s allowed to roam the shop freely.

Another sad cry and Michael rolls his eyes as he crouches to give it pets and scritches. God knows Gavin and Lindsay would find out somehow if he didn’t, give him shit about a cruel and heartless monster.

There’s a little pet tag on its collar, and curious, Michael catches it in his fingers to see what it says. The tabby flicks its ears but allows it, and Michael frowns at the name engraved on the pet tag.

“The fuck kind of name is ‘Rimmy Tim’?” he asks, because fucking really.

The cat gives him this _look_, ears swiveling back as it steps out of his reach with this little sniff, tag slipping through Michael's fingers.

Walks away in clear dismissal and jumps back up on the counter to curl up in its bed and turning its back to Michael as it does.

Michael sighs, because the cat has to be the shopkeepers familiar with that kind of attitude.

He goes back to exploring the store, making a mental note to ask the others if they need some of the things he sees being sold here when he gets home. (Assuming he can find the shop again after this, that is.)

There’s a wide array of rare and hard to find ingredients and other components here. A shelf of books he knows for sure Geoff and Jack would give a lot to add to their own collection. Other bits and bobs, as Gavin would put it, any of them would give a lot to have.

It’s that thought that finally has the reality of the situation sink in for Michael, odd shopkeeper out of the picture where the atmosphere of the shop sets in.

Little tug at the core him drawing him towards a small table in a corner, gem stones and crystals and other things laid out. 

A cool whisper in the back of his mind pulling his attention towards one of the skulls on the shelves by the windows. 

A raven from the look of it. 

Creeping unease from the corner where the skeleton stands on display, runes carved into its bones and a wreath of dried flowers resting on top of its skull.

A dozen other little things calling for his attention, quiet whispers and murmuring that builds, and builds, and _builds_ -

“I think I have everything here,” the guy says, voice startlingly loud in the cloying silence of the shop. “Do you - “

Michael looks over at him, heart beating double-time in his chest. Feels a little wild-eyed and expects to see a smug look on the guy’s face, or cool satisfaction at the way his shop and its wares have affected Michael, _but_.

He seems...confused at first, and then concerned. 

Sweeps a look around the shop and the chaos in Michael's mind quiets, retreats like morning fog when the sun appears to chase it away.

Michael sways towards him without conscious thought, crosses the few feet to stand across from him to escape the faint chill that set in without his realization.

“You know better,” the guy says, and for a moment Michael thinks he’s scolding _him_, but then he realizes the shopkeeper’s frowning at the tabby.

In response the tabby curls up tighter in its bed, ears flat against its skull and lets out a pathetic _mew_ in apology or explanation, Michael can’t understand it. Just knows whatever it is has the guy letting out a heavy sigh.

“Yes, well,” he says, setting a box down on the counter. “What do you expect when you insist on using that ridiculous name?”

The tabby makes an annoyed noise, but it gets out of its bed and comes to the edge of the counter where Michael’s standing and looks up at him.

Guilty, remorseful, tail flicking as it meows at him in apology.

Michael stares down at it.

He could, maybe should, be annoyed at it for that slip. 

There’s an understanding, when customers enter a shop like this things like that aren’t allowed to happen.

A gesture of trust, or something close enough to it for certain transactions to take place. For those who are inexperienced enough, unwary, to enter and leave without trouble. (In good faith.)

_But_.

Michael insulted it, and things like that allows things like it an amount of leeway. (Loopholes.)

And to be fair, nothing permanent, damaging, took place while the guy was out of the room.

Just...a reminder.

One that Michael clearly needed because he let his guard down in here. Got so caught up in things that he forgot the danger to places like this, or made the mistake of underestimating it because the guy seemed so normal.

Human.

Dramatic, maybe, but not like the usual sort Michael’s met in shops like this.

Michael looks at the guy, surprised that he seems to be on Michael’s side in this after all the shit he gave him earlier. The guy tips his head to the side, eyebrow raised and leaving things in Michael’s hands.

Which.

“It’s fine,” Michael says, because things could have gone worse.

He’s seen it before, less scrupulous shopkeepers than this one and his familiar and their deals with the unwise. Has had to clean up the mess afterward and inform the unfortunate victim’s family and friends who hired him to find out what happened to their loved one.

Michael should be the one who knew better in this case.

“Just a miscommunication.”

The guy hums, something thoughtful to it as he reaches out to the tabby and gives it a scritch under its chin. It leans in to his touch in relief, eyes closing briefly before it decides its had enough and hops off the counter to disappear into the storeroom.

Michael snorts, eyeing the box the guy brought out with him. 

“Oh,” the guy says, almost sounding sheepish, “sorry about that.”

He holds Michael's list in one hand as he goes over the contents of the box.

Glass bottles with the ingredients Gavin and Geoff wanted and little paper parcels for the rest. The replacement mortar and pestle Jack wanted, and most importantly the stupidly rare ingredient he needs for his spell.

When he’s done he hands Michael his list and smiles at him.

A normal smile. 

No creepy shopkeeper with his mysterious shop and even more mysterious wares. Cat familiar and all kinds of secrets waiting to be discovered, _for a price_.

“Were you looking for anything else today?”

He’s still _smiling_.

None of his dramatics or theatrics, just a guy in a t-shirt with the NASA logo behind the counter of his little shop and it’s. 

It’s certainly something.

“Uh,” Michael says, clearing his throat and giving himself a mental shake to let everything settle back into place. “No. No, that should do it.”

The guy shrugs and starts ringing him up using the cash register, pauses before he hits the total and smiles again, this crooked little thing.

“We don’t take checks,” he says.

There’s. 

He’s the one laughing at Michael now, gleam in his eye and very, very much an asshole.

Michael snorts as he pulls his wallet out.

“Credit card alright?” he asks.

The shops he regularly go to have started to accept them, though most still prefer cash Older ones will trade in favors, little ones that don’t cost much. 

Places like this, though? 

Hit or miss.

The guy laughs, and points at a sticker on the side the register with logos for the major credit card companies, so that’s one question answered.

Michael hands over his card and the guy finishes ringing him up, wishes him a nice day as he hands him back his card and a receipt and Michael picks up the box, ant turns to leave.

Gets a few feet away before he stops. Thinks about things in the kind of way where he really, really doesn't, and turns back to see the guy watching him with that crooked little smile on his face.

“Are,” Michael starts, not sure how to do this because wow, no. “Uh. Are you going to be here later?”

He glances around the shop and back to the guy, because it’s a valid question with places like this.

People like him. 

They come and go and most times you never see them again. For the best, considering what they are, but sometimes...

The guy gives him an odd look, which is fair.

He probably doesn’t get questions like that all that often, and Michael doesn’t even know his name. 

Has been referring to him as _the guy_ and _the shopkeeper_ in his head this whole time. (Maybe _that asshole_ a time or two, he wouldn’t put it past himself.)

Michael watches as the guy – Jesus, there he goes again – takes in his shop before looking back at Michael.

“It’s possible,” he says slowly. “The location seems pleasant enough.”

Not a no, or even some frustratingly vague and cryptic answer about fleeting permanence or what the fuck ever Michael was expecting.

“Okay,” Michael says. “Great. Thank you.”

Jesus, he’s an idiot.

The guy must think so too, with the smile on his face, but thankfully he says nothing as Michael gets the hell out of there before he says or does anything else stupid. 

Doesn’t risk glancing back to make sure the shop is still there once he’s outside, but he catches sight of the coffee shop sign next door to as he heads to his car.

Michael’s never been to it before, no time or reason to in between everything else going on in his life.

But…there’s this half-formed thought in the back of his mind maybe the guy wouldn’t be horrifically opposed to checking it out with him sometime if he and his shop do stick around a little longer.

...Or something, fuck if Michael knows.

Michael slams the trunk of his car harder than he means to, and stares at it for a long moment trying to untangle his thoughts.

Ridiculous, is what they are. 

Stupid as hell.

Dangerous, too, considering what the guy is. (Might be? Michael doesn’t have a goddamned clue other than the usual.)

_But_.

He hadn’t reacted badly when Michael gave him shit, and. 

He’s unfairly attractive. Has a nice smile, and an amazing voice and why not, really?

Can’t hurt to ask, right?

Later.

Michael sighs, laughing at himself as he goes around to the driver side of the car.

No need to get ahead himself right now anyway. 

If the shop’s still here after he’s done with work, he can figure things out then. 

Start by getting the guy’s name so he can stop calling him that in his head, and see where things go from there.


End file.
